


there will never be the end of us

by seungsiks (galacticnik)



Series: flame on flame (a slow dirge) [1]
Category: VICTON (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Superheroes/Superpowers, Epistolary, M/M, Memory Loss, though it's not a huge plot point tbh
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-30
Updated: 2019-09-30
Packaged: 2020-10-29 23:50:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20805041
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/galacticnik/pseuds/seungsiks
Summary: Dear Seungwoo,They told me you were awake.Or: Seungsik writes letters to a ghost, and Captain Han writes back.





	there will never be the end of us

**Author's Note:**

> for r, because all the 2seung i write are. also because you said epistolary and i went feral. 
> 
> warnings for mentions of memory loss, death, parental death, grief/mourning. warnings also for inaccurate science and plot holes.
> 
> a note because it comes up often: **KISO** is a fictional intelligence agency invented for the purposes of this fic. it stands for **K**orean **I**ntelligence **S**ecurity **O**perations. think marvel's SHIELD. you'll soon see why.
> 
> self edited without the aid of coffee. please forgive me.
> 
> edit: you can now read this in [russian](https://ficbook.net/readfic/8746427) and [vietnamese](https://www.wattpad.com/story/208032681-vtrans-seungwoo-x-seungsik-t%C3%ACnh-ta-m%C3%A3i-kh%C3%B4ng-phai).

Dear Seungwoo,

They told me you were awake.

I haven’t written a letter in years, a proper, pen-to-paper letter. But it’s the only way to contact you; Doctor Lee said he’d smuggle it to you during your next check up. I hope he succeeded—I hope it’s you reading this and not some tired, underpaid KISO junior agent or security guard.

Speaking of, I also hope you can read my writing. Apologies for the untidy scrawl; I’m drafting this from the car which is not conducive to a steady hand, especially since Hanse is driving.

I wonder if you remember him. I wonder if the thought made you laugh.

I almost didn’t write this. I don’t know how much you remember, or how much you’ve forgotten. It’s frightening to think I might’ve been wiped out of your mind altogether. They said it’s a possibility—the human brain is resilient, but you weren’t supposed to survive the crash, much less be perfectly alright. They told me to be prepared for the worst while hoping for the best. I settled somewhere in the middle, cautiously optimistic with realistic leanings.

That being said, I’ve been trying not to worry about it too much. It’s out of my hands. It’s in _your_ hands now, technically. It sounds like I’m pressuring you to—no, no pressure. I mean that; I hope you’re resting and recovering well.

We watched the crash live, you know. I’m sure you’ve probably seen clips of it by now, even if you don’t remember it. I don’t think I could ever forget the sight. Sometimes I have nightmares about it. Your plane going down over the Sea of Japan, smoke rising from the tail, your final words lost among the static. And then silence, and the collective inhale of an entire nation as we waited for you to emerge from the sea, a triumphant hero.

You never did.

There was a formal inquiry into the crash, from what I understand, though I don’t know too much about it. KISO pulled a lot of things from the sea—the black box, for one. Your body, for another, but I wasn’t aware of that at the time. Once they cleaned up the audio, I was allowed to listen to your final words, back when I believed they were your final words. You were going to die, and you said, “Seungsik, don’t spend the rest of your life mourning me.”

I hated you a little then. How could I not mourn you?

You had a hero’s funeral. You would’ve liked it, as much as anyone can like a funeral, I suppose. Truthfully, I sleepwalked through most of it; it felt like a lot of things, yet it never felt like a goodbye. Sejun told me I was being silly, searching for ghosts were there were none, but he left me to my grief. All our friends did. I became fragile in their eyes, like glass easily broken by their clumsy kindness.

But then, a year and nine months later, a KISO agent turned up at my front door and told me you were alive. It felt like someone had pulled me out of the water alongside you. I was submerged, drowning in my own misery, until suddenly I wasn’t, because you weren’t dead.

(I’m still not sure why they told me, why _I_ of all people was given this information. Contingency? Perhaps they thought if you ever broke out of your care facility, you’d come here first and I would be obligated to report it to them for the sake of your health. Or you would have, in the past. I don’t think you know where my apartment is anymore).

I wanted to write to you about a lot of things that have happened since you’ve been gone. We’ve had a lot of reasons to celebrate, as many as we’ve had to grieve. Everyone feels your absence keenly. But you may not feel ours, and I thought it would be best not to bombard you with information about people you have no connection to. I don’t want to force anything on you.

And there’s—well. When I started writing this, my mind initially went blank. The words that spilled out of my pen didn’t even feel like mine.

My therapist kept pushing me to do this exercise where I was supposed to write you a letter and then destroy it. She said it would help me work out my feelings and give me a chance to say all the things I left unsaid when you were alive, all the things I’ve bottled up since you left.

This is not that letter. I don’t want to write that letter yet. But I think a little bit of it might’ve bled out from me anyway. I suppose I still have some unresolved issues surrounding everything that happened. The tiniest bit of trauma, you might say.

Still, I wanted to write you _something_, if only to let you know that you can write back. You don’t have to. If it’s too strange—if it’s too much—you can discard this. But if you want to talk, I’m here. I’ll always be here for you.

Sincerely,  
Seungsik

* * *

Seungsik,

Did you know that, in the three months since I woke up, yours is the only letter I’ve received?

Yet I have no idea who you are. It’s maddening.

I would have written you back sooner, but I couldn’t move my arms for the first few weeks I was conscious. My fingers are _still_ stiff and unwieldy. Gripping a pen is hell. Trying to figure out how to work chopsticks again is worse. Sometimes I give up and eat rice with my bare hands like an animal (Dr. Lee if you are reading this, I will attend extra PT tomorrow in penance). So writing: I’m not good at it. I’m slow and my handwriting is worse than a five yr. old’s. Bear with me if you can.

I don’t… remember a Hanse, but I believe you when you say their driving is bad. A Hase is inherently chaotic. I have no evidence to back this up, just a gut feeling. Let me know if my gut is right. Your handwriting is fine; I can read it. It’s pretty. I don’t know what you look like, but my gut feeling also tells me that you have beautiful hands. Feel free to confirm that too.

People keep telling me I’ve forgotten a lot. I think maybe there should be more empty spaces in my mind than there actually are. But I don’t feel like I’m lacking anything, and that, I guess, is the scary part of it. If I don’t feel like I’ve lost something, how do I fight to get it back?

I’m recovering. Can’t say well or not well yet, but Dr. Lee says I’m making progress. I can go to the bathroom by myself. Glamorous, right? Can you believe there was a good week where it wasn’t possible? Don’t take your mobility for granted.

They (KISO, I guess, but not any division I can put a name to. That’s the point, right? _Spies_) showed me a video of the crash when I first woke up. I could barely string two words together, but they wanted to trigger some kind of memory. Super important, matter of national security, etc. After I got better, they moved onto questioning, asking if I remembered anything about the plane—what happened before, what happened during the mission, why it crashed, what happened to the ‘package’ on board, etc.—and I told them, glibly, that I had somehow completely blocked out my own death, sorry, I’d try harder not to next time around.

(Dr. Lee says I’m not allowed to joke about dying anymore since I’ve already done it once and it was expensive to put me back together. Ah yes, I _actually_ died. I’m alive now. The science is complicated).

I asked the good doctor who you were. Who you were to _me_, more specifically. He didn’t say anything, just mumbled that it wasn’t his place. Were we family? Friends? Should I be using the past tense or are we still—? That’s an unfair question, sorry. You wouldn’t have risked everything to smuggle in a letter like this if we aren’t still whatever we are (even if it’s not what we were). Your name feels important, for what it’s worth.

If I break out tomorrow, I’d still look for you. Just a feeling. Blame the gut once more.

I don’t know how sincere this will sound, but I’m sorry for not knowing. I’m sorry I put you through so much pain. I can’t say if I would do it differently if I could go back in time, but I do know that I never meant to hurt anyone. Who knew actions had consequences? (Ha…) I don’t know how I can fix this. And I want to fix this, believe me. I want to be the Seungwoo you know, because right now I feel like the version of myself that I am isn’t the real deal.

Where do I go from here? Nobody tells me anything. My life is an endless loop of therapy and tests and medication. I close my eyes and try to search my brain for things I should know and come up empty. I don’t dream. Dr. Lee says things will get better. When? I’m waiting.

I was trying not to vent. Who cares if I’m _unhappy_, at least I’m alive, right? Sorry for being so bitter. I’ll reign it in next time. I wonder if I used to be better at it before.

Your therapist is probably right. If you ever write that letter, I’ll read it. I’m a blank slate, or as close to one as you’ll ever get. Use me for closure, I don’t mind.

In the meantime, I want to learn, or re-learn, about you. Bombard me with information and inside jokes. I’ll keep up. Maybe it’ll help you with your issues. Maybe it’ll help me with mine. Maybe it won’t and we’ll remain damaged, broken people, but two’s company, right?

My hand is cramping and the nurses are here with my dinner. I told them I’m writing in my diary and they didn’t question it too much, so I guess that’s lucky. Man, I said dinner, but this doesn’t look edible. Do you know what my favorite dish used to be?

I’m sorry I died,  
Seungwoo

* * *

Dear Seungwoo,

I had almost stopped waiting for your reply. I told myself that I was writing to a ghost, that there was a high chance KISO would confiscate this and fire Doctor Lee while they were at it before he could get to you, that even if nothing went wrong, you still might not want to write me back. The last one hurt, but I was trying to prepare myself for it. In the end, when your letter arrived by care of Doctor Lee, I was pleasantly surprised. You could have ignored me, but you didn’t, and I don’t know what to say except thank you.

It’s a relief to hear you’re doing as well as can be expected. To be honest, I wasn’t aware of the full extent of your injuries. All I was cleared to know was that you were in critical condition, and I assumed that meant… well, I don’t know what I assumed, but it involved a lot of tubes and machinery and complicated medical terms I only vaguely recognize from hospital dramas. Clearly, my imagination was not up to par with the truth.

I’m doing my best to sound nonchalant, but my hands are shaking. You might be able to tell from the crooked lines.

You said the science is complicated, but I’m morbidly curious as to how you’re alive when you… died? I suppose I’m having some trouble wrapping my head around the idea. Doctor Lee was not forthcoming when I pressed him for information either. If it’s painful to talk about, I understand and you don’t have to tell me anything. But if you’re up to it, I’d like to know what happened.

I didn’t expect you to remember much. I can’t lie and say I’m not disappointed, but it could be worse. You could be—not breathing. Compared to that, this is a victory. Please don’t feel guilty about losing your memories. I know you will anyway because you’ve always blamed yourself for everything but _none_ of this is your fault. Sometimes bad things happen, and all we can do is move forward despite them. You don’t need to carry the weight of the world on your shoulders.

(If that isn’t any consolation, then Doctor Lee believes there is still a chance your memories will return. I do too. It may not be permanent. I hope it isn’t permanent.

But even if it is, even if this loss persists for the rest of your life, I’ll be here for you, and you’ll be okay. The thing about memories is that you can always make new ones if the old ones remain out of your grasp).

I’m not sure how much I should tell you about us. Doctor Lee mentioned that your brain is already attempting to process a lot of new information every day. It wasn’t a blatant warning not to unload our shared history onto you, but close enough to one that I don’t want to add to the information overload if I can help it.

More than that, I don’t want you to feel guilty for not remembering anything about us. I get the sense you want to dive right back into things like you never left, as if you’re hoping that immersing yourself in your past will bring it all rushing back. When it doesn’t, you’ll blame yourself for not doing enough, or wanting it enough, or something equally silly.

But you don’t need to know everything immediately. It’s okay to go slow. I’ll go slow for you. We can start here: we were, are, and always will be friends.

My homeroom class has penpals for English practice. I asked them to introduce themselves following certain guidelines in their first letter. I’ll try to do the same for our re-introduction since you're the closest thing _I _have to a penpal right now.

My name is Kang Seungsik. I’m twenty-eight years old and I was born on April 16 in Gyeonggi, South Korea. I live in Busan now, where I teach elementary school social studies. My blood type is A, and my hobbies are cleaning, reading poetry, and eating healthy. I also like cats, but I don’t own one yet. In the future, I want to be a teacher who makes a difference in his students’ lives.

It’s nice to meet you.

Is it normal to feel this embarrassed over a self introduction? What have I been doing to my students?

Speaking of—it’s strange to think I primarily teach third grade, which happens to be the grade I was in when we first met. To indulge in a bit of nostalgia: my family had just moved to Busan at the time. I used to be shy; I didn’t have any friends so I spent most of my lunch break playing alone. Predictably, I was a soft target for bullies. Once, an older kid stomped over to bother me during break; he was much bigger and took my action figure—some generic superhero—and refused to give it back.

I didn’t know how to even begin to interact with him, but I didn’t have to. Before I could say or do anything stupid, you materialized out of nowhere (well, the playground) and demanded he return it. You were smaller than him, softer-spoken, but in that moment I thought you were fearless, glowing.

(You told me later that you couldn’t stand injustice, and I laughed and said it was a playground bully, it wasn’t that serious.

“Injustice is injustice,” you responded. “And you being sad is the biggest injustice of all.”)

You got the action figure back, and a busted lip for your efforts. The bully had snapped off its arm, and you tried to glue it back together using your spit. Unsurprisingly, it didn’t work, and you flopped onto the grass and grinned placatingly up at me and said, “I’ll be your hero. I’m harder to break.”

That was the start of everything, at least for me.

KISO claims they created you. Your brand, anyway. **Captain Han**, defender of the country, home-grown hero. I say they’re wrong: you were a hero on your own from the beginning.

We were friends from that day onward. Other relationships came and went, transient friendships which ebbed away with the changing of the seasons. Some people stayed. Chan, Sejun, Byungchan, Hanse—who can be chaotic, yes, but has always had a soft spot for you—and Subin. I’m enclosing a picture of all of us. I don’t know if it’ll matter all that much, but it might be nice to see a few new (old) faces.

They all miss you. I haven’t told them you’re alive. I’m not allowed to. I wish I could, though. It might help a few of them sleep easier at night.

You once told me I was the person who knew you the best, but that I still didn’t know everything. I took that to heart. You’ve always been a closed book. Internalizing feelings was an art form where you were concerned. We all used to worry about you—you’d never say when you were angry, when you were hurting, when you were upset. Even more so after you became Captain Han and every moment of weakness, however brief, was a chink in your armour.

So I’d say you were better at hiding how you felt, but that isn’t necessarily a good thing. In my opinion, anyway. I learned to read between the lines, to listen to the shifting cadence of your voice to figure out how you felt and what you really meant, but it’s harder to read between the lines on paper. So please, vent to me as plainly as you’d like. I’ll accept your bitterness, your rage, your confusion, your irritation. Don’t close yourself off and don’t stew in the negativity.

I’ve heard people say that recovery is half a mental exercise. Focus on getting rest, both mental and physical.

You used to like gamjajeon. I made it for you once, and it was a disaster.

But I’d like to make it for you again.

Patiently,  
Seungsik

_[Enclosed: a picture of Seungwoo with his friends. From left to right, Byungchan, Sejun, Subin, Seungwoo, Seungsik, Chan, Hanse. The names of each individual have been meticulously written above their heads, save for one—a simple, **It’s me**, scrawled above Seungsik’s grinning face]._

* * *

Seungsik,

Thanks for the photograph. I was right; you do have beautiful hands. Creepy thing to notice, right? I know, I know, but you do. Like pianist’s hands, I think. Imagine. I don’t know what pianist’s hands look like. It’s nice being able to put names to faces, though that’s all I really got out of the photo. I mean, I studied it, kept waiting for an _aha!_ moment, like ‘oh yeah, this is the guy I used to rob convenience stores with!’ or something significant. Nothing like that happened and… My fault for expecting too much, I guess.

I tacked the photo above my bed. No one has asked me where I got it yet. I feel like they’re just tolerating it because it keeps my spirits up, but I'm working on banking some creative explanations for it when someone eventually _does_ ask. BTW: I’m sending a picture of myself with this letter; one of the nurses took it for me and I think the lighting is pretty bad, but I thought you would appreciate it.

My sister came to visit today. Dr. Lee is standing over my shoulder while I’m writing this and telling me I have more than one, apparently, so to clarify, I mean Sunhwa. I didn’t even recognize her until Dr. Lee said, “this is your older sister,” which should tell you something about how that went. You know what the sad part about it was? I couldn't remember anything about my family until she told me. I mean, I knew I had one, in the way that everyone has one, but not anything about _my_ family, specifically.

She looked tired. I… don’t know how I could tell that. She said she was happy to see I was still alive and kicking, and that our parents would be proud, and a lot of other things that felt like they should’ve meant more than they did.

Did you know my parents are dead? I mean, of course you know. You must have. If we’ve been friends since elementary school, you were probably there when they passed. You probably tried to comfort me too. You seem like that kind of person. Meanwhile, I’m beginning to learn that_ I'm_ the kind of person who was probably tough to console. I don't want anyone's pity but I have to keep reminding myself that people giving a shit about you doesn't have to be _pity_.

It’s so strange to wake up and hear that your parents are just… poof! Gone. Not that I can remember a single thing about them, but it still hurts. I can’t bring up their faces in my mind, but I know in some hazy way that they were good parents. I know that I was loved.

Maybe I’m mourning them all over again.

About the ‘me being dead’ part (since we’re on the subject), I will tell you on the condition that you 1) don’t freak out and 2) don’t worry because I am OK now. When they found my body, I was legitimately dead. Heart had stopped and everything, nothing going on upstairs, etc. I don’t know exactly how they kickstarted everything again, but Dr. Lee said none of it would have been possible without the serum. Whatever regenerative healing powers it gave me were crucial to helping me survive the procedure they performed, and crucial in making sure I could recover from it.

So in many ways, I owe that serum my life. In many ways, I feel like I didn’t have a life before it. Aside from your letters, everything I managed to learn about myself so far is post-serum. Is this all I am?

Hey, I’m having trouble believing you’re real. Did it hurt when you fell from heaven? That’s not meant to be a come on but a genuine question. I can’t promise I won’t carry the… guilt or whatever (I want to remember. I do. I try so hard, but it's still just out of my reach) with me for a while, mostly because I don’t know how to shake it off. Like, I dunno. If I were stronger, mentally, I wouldn’t be here, talking to you like you’re a stranger when I know you’re not. I know that's a shitty attitude to have and I'm working on it.

Nobody is letting me throw myself into anything. It’s not fair; sometimes you have to run before you can walk.

I wanted to try a self introduction too but I think it would be pointless—you know me better than I know myself right now. That isn’t meant to be self-deprecating; just honest. Nice to meet you, Kang Seungsik. I think I liked cats too. I sound like an insufferable kid, but I'm glad I was brave and/or reckless enough to be your knight in shining armor. I bet you still have that action figure, don’t you?

_Captain Han_. Did you know I’ve come to hate that title? It’s the only thing people will call me here, like I should be proud of it._ Captain _this and _Captain_ that. What I wouldn’t give for someone to call me Seungwoo, or even that asshole.

It sounds like I gave you a lot of headaches. Sorry. I dunno how valid it is to feel remorse for something you can’t remember doing, but that sure sounds like a me thing. From what I know of me, anyway. One thing they don’t tell you about losing your memory in the books and movies—rebuilding yourself is like doing a puzzle where you don’t know what the final picture is supposed to look like. You keep trying to fit pieces together, but you don’t know if you’re doing it wrong or right. Everything I’m learning about myself stuck here in this facility could be wrong.

I trust you to tell me if it’s right. I trust you, period.

I think I should tell you that I will try to be more open and talk to the therapist they’ve issued me if only to show you I’m dedicated to progress, but I don’t really like that guy. I’ll think about it. Still very dedicated to progress though. In the meantime, don’t stress out about me. I’m sure you have enough to deal with in your life besides one undead supersoldier.

I dreamed about you last night. We were in Rome, in a cafe in Piazza di Spagna (I looked it up). You were eating some gelato and there was a bit on your nose, and I reached over to wipe it off with a finger, and then it started to rain and you said, “Seungwoo, my gelato’s going to melt,” like it was the saddest thing in the world. Was it a memory?

I want to try your gamjajeon again,  
Seungwoo

_[Enclosed: a picture of Han Seungwoo lying in a hospital bed, only visible from the waist up. His hair is pushed back, exposing his forehead and only a single eyebrow. He’s smiling in a way that makes his eyes disappear in half-moons. Scribbled at the bottom is, **Hello from the afterlife!**]_

* * *

Dear Seungwoo,

You look the same. Well, _almost_ the same. You still had both your eyebrows the last time I saw you, and none of the stubble, but your smile hasn’t changed. I look at your face every day—there’s a poster of you in my classroom; I didn’t put it up—and yet this hit in a way I didn’t expect it to. You look good. You look healthier than I feared. You look alive.

You’re still handsome with only one eyebrow.

I asked Doctor Lee if I could visit, but he doesn’t think it’s a good idea. He must be right, and I trust his judgment completely, but I wish I could see you just to reassure myself that you’re real. Hm, I phrased that wrong. I know you’re real, but there are times I still wake up in a cold sweat thinking I just watched you die on national television. There are times I feel like this is a dream I’ll wake up from any second now, to a world where you’re still underwater.

It would be nice to confirm I have nothing to fear. Hopefully I’ll get to someday soon.

I haven’t seen Sunhwa or your other sister since your funeral. I’m relieved KISO was compassionate enough to inform them you were still alive. I imagine it means the world to them to know their baby brother is safe. I’m glad you got to meet too. If anyone can help you learn about your childhood, it’s your sisters. I… think I’ll stop by Sunhwa’s for a visit this weekend. I’m sure she’s going through a lot right now, and it might help to talk to someone—and I think I’m the only ‘someone’ who knows you’re alive, so it has to be me.

I did know your parents were dead. I should’ve told you sooner, but I didn’t know how to bring it up and I can only apologize for that. Part of me was scared to broach the subject; I didn’t want to be the one to give you bad news. I want you to look forward to my letters, not dread them.

I’m not sure how much Sunhwa told you already, but they passed away during your first year of university. It was a freak accident, nothing more, and you spent a long time grieving them on your own. It was... troubling, and I didn’t know how to take care of you back then. I was too young and immature to know what you needed from me, and by the time I figured it out, you were seemingly done—not okay, but done. "I'm fine," you said. I'm not sure why I believed you at the time, but I shouldn't have.

Everything happened fairly quickly after that; you dropped out of university and enlisted in the military because it was something you ‘had to do.’ The ink had barely died on my high school certificate when I followed you into service because that was something _I_ had to do. I couldn’t leave you alone.

They say the rest is history. Sunhwa is right. Your parents would’ve been proud of you.

I didn’t realize your condition was that bad. I thought you were hurt, almost dead but still clinging on through some stroke of luck. I—I don’t know what to say or how to process this. I’m scared. I’m horrified. I’m sick with relief. Sorry, I think I _am_ freaking out a little bit. So it was the serum that saved you? I never thought I’d be thankful for it. Er. That was uncalled for. I _am_ thankful for the serum. But it took you from us in some ways, though I suppose I can’t complain since it gave you back.

(I always thought of myself as a simple person, but I’m discovering I have a complicated relationship with quite a few different things).

Your flirting is still as bad as always, huh? The heaven line—I don’t think even _grandfathers_ use that. You don't need to sink that low; Sejun once told you that all you had to do was keep your mouth shut and smile and women would flock to you. It was true; I’ve seen you in action. It still is. Like I said, your smile hasn’t changed.

(I do still have the action figure. I collect them now. Some of them are of you).

I’m fairly sure no one has ever called you an asshole in your life so that might be a stretch, but when you get out, we can manage to call you Seungwoo, at least.

Even if you don’t like the therapist, you should probably talk to him—is what I ought to say, but don’t force yourself to do something you’re not comfortable with (though I do think it’ll help a lot). I’m… honored and flattered by your trust, but I feel a little burdened? You should be more cautious. What if I told you something about yourself that didn’t end up being true? Something like, you promised to give me all your life savings, or you walked around wearing a pair of striped cat years in your free time.

(No to both of those, but you see the power? It’s a lot).

But I’ll try my best. You can rely on me.

Sadly, it’s not a memory. We never went to Rome together, but we could in the future?

Affectionately,  
Seungsik

* * *

S.

The last letter I wrote you was confiscated by a nurse. They’re more vigilant these days, but to be fair, I feel like it might have contained a lot of confidential information. I convinced her not to report it to the higher ups (lots of eyelash-fluttering and hand-touches were involved), but she ripped it up and tossed it in the trash. In the _trash_, not the recycling! I’m still appalled.

To get back to it—

Wish you could visit too. Feel like I’ve memorized every line of your face but it’s not enough. Glad you think I’m still handsome, though. That was a nice boost to my ego.

These days, my body feels… better than it did. _I_ feel better. Dr. L says I’ve returned to ‘peak condition,’ whatever that means. Yesterday, I punched a sandbag clean off its hook during my workout. I was worried, but Dr. L said this was normal for me. Post-serum me, at least. Can’t stop thinking about what kind of a specimen I was that this is considered normal? I mean, I guess I knew in a distant way that the serum gave me more than just regenerative healing. The full list is something like: enhanced reflexes, enhanced durability, heightened senses, super strength, maybe other stuff I haven’t discovered yet.

I feel it coursing through my system now—artificial and yet a part of me at the same time. It’s not like it wasn’t there before, mind you, I just notice it more. I notice everything more. You’d think I’d have come to terms with the side effects of this serum, but I guess not.

Still don’t remember shit. What’s the point of a super body when my mind is soup?

I spend most of my time reading up on myself these days. Outside of PT and tests, it’s all I really have. Selected reports, redacted files, textbook blurbs, etc. No videos or biographies yet even though I know they exist. KISO guys say not all the information in those is verified, and they don’t want me absorbing a bunch of bullshit when I’m still ‘susceptible.’ I dunno, I’d welcome some juicy gossip at this point. I don’t even sound like a man in these, you know? More like a myth, or a legend, and it’s a weird feeling because I’m just one person. I can’t have done—I can’t be—half the things they say about me.

You said we enlisted together. How did I really become Captain Han? I don’t really want the official answer, please. Why did I take the serum? I think I would’ve told you my reasons, and I think you would’ve told me not to, then supported my decision anyway.

You're the only one I can ask.

I’ll work on my flirting while I wait,  
HSW

* * *

Dear Seungwoo,

_BE CAREFUL_. If this can get you into trouble then I really don’t want to send you more letters. That is the rational response, but here I am, still writing this and enclosing it in an envelope and hoping you’ll write me back. At the very least, please don’t slip in any state secrets. I would like to remain (mostly) blissfully aware about the goings-on of your organization.

It must be disorienting, learning about yourself through all these impersonal accounts. The Seungwoo I know likely isn’t the one you’re learning about. I’m sure the reports and books are expertly researched, but do they mention how you used to nuzzle people like a cat when you wanted attention, or the wicked way you used to grin when you were about to win at something? Little habits like that I’ve memorized, but they’re not—well. No one says you need to embrace them again.

I don’t know how to start talking about this. Yes, you told me your reasons, and yes, I didn’t really approve of what you intended to do, but I promised I’d support you. I promised I’d follow you to hell and back.

We were almost done with mandatory service when KISO put out a call for volunteers for a new program: _Project Achilles_. They didn’t give us any specifics, but a lot of men signed up right away, including you. I think it was… months of rigorous testing after that on a different, secret army base. You wrote sometimes, but your letters were always heavily redacted. The last one I got from you before the serum simply said you’d passed, you’d made it, you were going to ‘take it tomorrow.’_ I hope I come through on the other side_, you wrote, _but if I don’t, at least I died doing something worthwhile._

There were five of you in the end. The official files don’t mention this part. The redacted ones don’t either. You only told me about it years later, eyes hollow, your hands shaking. Three died during the process; their bodies rejected the serum. You survived, so did Lee Jinhyuk. They lost him during the first mission they sent the two of you out on—last I heard, he was still considered missing in action. You were the only one left, and after the scientist who created the serum passed away, you were the only one, period.

They made you into _Captain Han_ a year after the serum. The myths aren’t entirely true, but they aren’t entirely false either.

As for why you did it, you had many different reasons. You were always a hero, the defender of the weak. You said you wanted to serve the country somehow. You were still wrapped in grief, still heartsick over your parents, and that made you reckless and foolhardy, willing to run headlong into danger. But it always felt inevitable as well. I knew, from the moment you came to my room with bright eyes and fervor in your voice, that you were born for this. Later, when those eyes became tired after years of being the Captain, after you’d seen too much, you said you just wanted to make a difference and be a man your parents could watch proudly over.

You always spoke with such conviction, though I always thought you couldn’t have been that sure about your choices. But you never showed any regret, never looked back. Even when being Captain Han consumed your life, you didn’t complain, because you signed up for this and… providence. You outlasted everyone else for a reason. You believed that with your whole heart.

I envied you a little. You knew what you wanted while I didn’t, so I spent my youth following after you. I was in the military for four years simply because that was where you were and I didn’t want to let you go. Then I took a bullet wound to the shoulder while trying to cover you and took that as a sign I needed to get out and find my own path. You agreed, I think, even if I still remember the unhappy tilt of your mouth when I said I was leaving. I went to college after that, discovered I liked kids, and became a teacher while you were busy saving the country.

And then you died. I wanted to follow you then too. I thought about it a lot. It’s a good thing I didn’t.

I miss you. I wish you were here, or I wish I was there. I wish—I wish for a lot of things I can’t have.

<strike>I need to control my greed. </strike>

I’m glad to hear you’re feeling ‘normal.’ I hope you'll be able to leave that place soon.

Wistfully,  
Seungsik

* * *

Seungsik,

Dr. L smuggles your letters in books these days. I’m reading Oscar Wilde’s The Picture of Dorian Grey. There’s a quote here that made me think of you. _The curves of your lips rewrite history._ It’s fitting; I’ve seen your smile.

Thank you for the honesty. It’s reassuring, maybe, to learn that I went into this for the right reasons. Having no reliable memory means it’s easy to doubt yourself, and I doubt myself constantly. I keep waiting for any of this to click in my brain, but it won’t. Starting to think I might be broken permanently and it’s a v. sobering thought.

Side note: I can’t get drunk anymore. Definitely ranks on the ‘top ten worst things I’ve discovered about my life’ list.

They’ve let me progress to watching news interviews and documentaries now. There are a lot of them. Like _a lot_. Seems I was as much a national icon as a national weapon, and I can’t decide if that’s a good thing or not. Twenty-first century propaganda is pretty subtle, huh? Honestly, these are more interesting than the reports, but they still don’t tell me anything. I look at the guy on screen and he seems like someone else’s problem. He’s so far away from me. I mean, was I really that… arrogant? Cocksure? Do I want to be, again?

I heard your voice for the first time a week ago. It’s nothing like what I imagined it would be. Soothing, warmer than it was in my head, like distilled sunshine turned to sound. You’re wondering where I heard it, aren’t you? It was for a news bit at my funeral. You looked tired and haggard in a loose-fitting suit, your mouth pressed in a thin line, just shy of a frown. The reporter asked how you’d like people to remember Captain Han. You said, “The thing I hope people remember about Han Seungwoo is that even before the suit and the serum, he was still the best man I ever knew. I don’t think I’ll meet someone like him ever again.”

I’ve been thinking about that a lot.

Have you seen the movie they made about me? It was a dramatization, but Dr. L figured I’d get a laugh out of it. Twenty minutes in, it tried to convince me I was in love with an actress named Son Naeun, that she was the driving force behind all my decisions. You know, stuff like I fought to protect my country but more than that, I fought to protect her. But our love was fated to end badly, doomed when that plane sank into the sea. I watched her give an interview about me after that. She’s pretty, and almost sounded sincere when she said she’d never forget me. Any guy would be lucky.

_But._

I keep thinking of your haunted gaze, the way your voice cracked when you said my name. Your smiling face from that photograph laid over your pinched expression at the funeral, looking like you’d lost a limb or part of your heart. When you thanked the reporter and turned to leave, some primeval part of me wanted to yell, _wait, please don’t go, please._

It hurt, you know, to see you like that. To see you turn away from me. To know that I was the whole reason you were in pain. And I felt this overwhelming physical urge to hold you, to run my fingers through your hair, to say, “Hey, I’m here. I’m here. I told you I was hard to break.” My chest still feels too hot and too tight, empty and yearning.

And I wonder—

Does the heart remember even if the mind forgets?

Was I in love with you?

SW.

* * *

Dear Seungwoo,

I’m sorry for taking so long to reply. I needed to take a couple of days to work out what to say, and took longer to actually say it. I wrote two versions of this letter, one filled with the truth and one filled with lies. In the end I couldn’t decide which to send and tore them both up. Lies don’t feel right, and it’s not fair of me to keep the truth from you even if I think it might be best because this was your life too.

So here it goes.

Prefaced with: I can’t definitively tell you how you felt about anything, much less me.

However, I can tell definitively tell you that I was in love with you. _Am_. No past tenses here.

I think everyone knew. I never consciously tried to hide it. I don’t know how I _could_ hide it. Chan figured it out within three minutes of meeting us, but he holds the record.

I wonder if you knew. How could you? But how could you not? I waded into the enemy’s camp for you. I took a bullet for you, even though I felt foolish in the end because you would’ve healed a lot faster than I did. I didn’t think about that at the time. I only wanted to protect you because you were—everything.

My therapist said that lots of people had crushes on you, especially men. As a paragon of masculinity, you were a safe icon for men questioning their sexuality to channel their confusing feelings into. She didn’t really understand what I was trying to say about what I felt for you, but that was fine. I didn’t expect her to. I loved you from—maybe not the first moment I saw you—but not long after. I loved you before I knew what love was.

I still love you now, in every sense of the word.

Your romance with Naeun was your publicist’s idea. She’s a friend of Sunhwa’s, and she agreed to the charade as a favor. You went on a couple of dates, got photographed together, and the whole country fell in love with the idea of the two of you as a couple. You got along well enough. You even confessed, once, that you could really fall in love with her if you tried. I told you I was happy for you, and you looked disappointed, like you wanted me to say something else.

At this point you’re likely thinking I loved you in silence until you died, and there’s a part of me that wants to leave it here, cleanly. Perhaps you feel guilty for trapping me in a one-sided love, and I want to say that you shouldn’t. Whatever choices I’ve made regarding you are my own. The choice to tell you that it didn’t end like this is also my own, and perhaps I'll come to regret it, but.

Selfishly, I want you to know this too.

A week before you went on your final mission, you climbed into my apartment through the window like you normally do. You weren’t bleeding for once, which was unusual, and you looked oddly nervous, which was even more so. I cooked you dinner, and then we settled on the couch while you chattered happily about the latest charity event you made an appearance at, and I was laughing at some story involving a little girl and a tray full of cupcakes with plastic spiders hidden inside and—

You kissed me. It was a slow kiss, unhurried, the kind you savor, the kind you remember for the rest of your life. Your hands were cupping my face. Gently, like you were scared of crushing me, and I gripped the front of your shirt to pull you closer. But you leaned back and looked at me with dark eyes. Scared eyes, actually, your thumb swiping at your lower lip.

I asked you, “How long?”

You said, “My whole life.”

I couldn’t speak. You kissed me again. And again. And again. And _again_.

The next day, we felt like we could do anything. Conquer the world if we wanted to. We had our whole lives ahead of us. Then KISO called for Captain Han, but you were smiling even as you left, the sun illuminating your face as you said you’d find your way back to me soon.

The next time I saw you was… well. The plane, the sea, the end.

Does that answer your question?

I know you think because you might have loved me then, you need to love me now, but you don’t. I’m not telling you any of this because I want something from you. If you want to start over without being burdened by any of this, I understand, and I will support you.

You were my best friend before you were anything else, and you will always be my best friend. Nothing’s going to change that. Even death and memory loss didn’t change that.

I’ll be okay, no matter what you decide.

Always,  
Seungsik

* * *

S.

I wish I could remember you.

SW.

* * *

S.

Here’s a secret: I crashed that plane on purpose.

I don’t remember it happening, but I pieced together enough from KISO’s questions that it’s the obvious answer. I mean, didn’t sound like a technical failure. I didn’t get shot down either. I crashed the plane on purpose to destroy or hide whatever was on board, which was... whatever KISO sent me into North Korea to ‘acquire’ at the cost of my own life. I sacrificed myself for it and I don’t even know what it is or why I thought it was important enough to give up everything for. To give up _you_ for.

Isn’t that just the funniest thing?

I wanted to tell you this because you keep telling me this memory loss shit isn’t my fault, but don’t you see? It is. I did this to myself. I made a decision, and I’m living with the consequences, and I’m choking on my own regrets with each passing day. And the thing is, I can’t tell you if I’d make the same choice if I could go back in time or if I’d pick something different because I don’t—I don’t know why I decided to pay for that stupid thing—that stupid _weapon_—with my life. I'm so sick of second-guessing myself like this, but I can't understand my own rationale.

Sometimes I'm scared I'm going to lose my mind if I keep circling back like this.

I’ve also been thinking about you in relation to choices, I guess. I wish I hadn’t kissed you. Or do I? I can’t decide which is more cruel: dying without being honest with you, or dying after being honest? By doing the second one, did I just give you more to mourn?

But I feel like even if I could go back in time and pick again, I’d still kiss you. I _want_ to kiss you. I’m unsure of everything, but I feel that one in my gut. I’d kiss you in every timeline.

The thing is, I don’t ever want to hurt you (again), but I think I might have been for the past… however long we’ve been sending letters back-and-forth. You keep writing to me hoping that your Seungwoo will come back to you one day, the guy you shared a whole life with, but I don't know if that's going to happen. The truth is, despite whatever Dr. L says, I might never remember my past. I hear him talking to the nurses sometimes about the effects of the trauma. He sounds grave every single time, and I'm going to go out on a limb and say he doesn't want to let on how grim the prognosis is in front of me, but deep down, he _knows_. It’s just something in the brain, I guess. It was never supposed to stop, then start back up.

I need to learn to start being okay with that. I need to learn to start looking forward instead of peering back into the darkness. Like, if this is how it's gonna be for the rest of my life, I need to let go of that stubborn bit of hope and start working out where I should go from here as Seungwoo 2.0.

But that doesn't mean I—

You remember how you said I could always make new memories? I wonder if it's really... I mean, I wonder if you'd want to help me. Make new memories and everything. I know it's a lot to ask since I basically just said the guy you knew is gone forever, but you're the one person I want to be with in this life, not out of obligation or because I knew you before, but because I want you now.

I _want_ you here by my side, Seungsik. I think part of me felt that from your very first letter. That same part of me has been waiting till I could figure out how to say it. I _want _you. I _choose_ you. Even without my memories, you're the most important person—you're the most.

I want to fall in love with you again.

When I get out of here, can we start over?

HSW

* * *

Dear Seungwoo,

I’ll start over with you as many times as you ask me to.

Yours,  
Seungsik

**Author's Note:**

> this was an extremely difficult fic to write. i started it on a whim and then got too far into it to let go, so here we are. i'm still not entirely sure how i feel about it, but it was nice to try something new! a few notes:
> 
> **i.** inspired by _captain america: the first avenger._ i've tried to avoid direct parallels, but if a plot point seems familiar, it's probably because i borrowed it from the movie.  
**ii.** i'm planning a non-epistolary part two to this, but it'll be more of an epilogue than anything. i don't know when it will be finished, but i intended to get to it eventually... someday.  
**iii.** thank you for reading ♥


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